


One more chance

by SidneySydney



Series: To love, and be loved in return [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Keith (Voltron), Season 8, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 04:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17036861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidneySydney/pseuds/SidneySydney
Summary: Keith offers Lance a helping hand before Lance's date with Allura. It's the best and worst decision of his life, but he has no regrets. He just wants one more chance to show Lance that he has more to offer.





	One more chance

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is not a fix-it fic. I genuinely liked the last season, and though I'm sad Allura died I'm glad she got that time with Lance to experience real love one last time. This is just a little idea I had surrounding it. I like the open-ended finish.
> 
> NOTE: Still some typos being corrected because editing is painful.

‘The Lance who knows exactly who he is and what he has to offer.’ There’s a pause, and Keith watches the surprised look on Lance’s face, his heart beating hard against his ribs; he’s said too much. Shown too much. The silence between them stretches on until, just as Keith thinks he’ll drown in it, Lance’s face splits into a small smile and then Keith can breathe again.

Lance looks like he’s about to say something more but then clamps his lips firmly together and swallows. He collects himself like he’s about to leave and Keith feels his insides squeeze again. He can’t let Lance go yet. Just wants a little more time.

‘So,’ Keith rushes to say, ‘you should know that that ridiculous makeshift Altean garb has got to go. Right now.’

‘But Coran said,’ Lance begins, looking worried all over again.

‘Since when has Coran’s fashion advice ended with a good outcome for us?’ Keith interrupts with a raised eyebrow.

Lance scoffs. ‘Never.’ He’s not looking at Keith anymore, but towards the sunset, where the beams of gold still cling to the horizon. The moment they finally blink out Keith sees a flicker of pain cross Lance’s face.

‘Exactly,’ Keith continues. ‘So please don’t start now. Not when you’ve finally got a chance to really impress Allura. Show her what Earth Lance wears. How Earth Lance exists. How he,’ Keith swallows, ‘loves.’

Lance is nodding along with Keith’s words, his eyes still locked on the horizon while a fraction of light still remains—splashes of red, orange and pink. Keith knows there’s no tearing his eyes away from it. It’s the last time he’ll ever see this happen for who knows how long, so Keith remains silent. If Lance so much as blinks he might miss it. His…

His last chance.

‘Take me to your house,’ Keith says quietly, so as not to startle Lance to look away.

Lance’s eyebrows raise but he doesn’t move his gaze. ‘What?’

‘Take me to your place and I’ll help you pick an outfit. I know I’m not an inspiring model for fashion, but for sure I’ve got to be better than Coran.’ He’s panting a little by the end, and his heart is thundering in his chest. He feels like he’s intruding on what’s supposed to be Lance and Allura’s moment. Feels out of place for even daring to ask some such a thing. For Lance to let him into his life one last time. Before —

Keith realises that the light has now fully been engulfed by darkness, and there’s nothing but the familiar blanket of starts around them.

Before his time runs out.

 _His last chance_.

Keith feels Lance’s eyes on him. He feels like his heart is going to burst apart. He thinks for sure Lance knows what he’s doing. And he knows for sure that Lance is too good to let him get away with it.

But still…

‘Okay.’

 

 

 

Lance’s family is exactly as Keith expects them to be: loud, chatty and kind. Well, maybe all large families are like that, all talking over top of one another until no one can be heard at all. Maybe Keith’s family is just quiet? Maybe this is just what normal families are like? Keith wouldn’t know.

Whatever the case, Keith feels completely outnumbered the moment he steps through the door. Everyone is here. All blue-eyed, starry-eyed and round-eyed. Keith realises they must have thought he was Allura and his throat turns sticky and tight when he sees all their faces fall upon seeing him instead.

Lance makes quick introductions that Keith forgets almost immediately, except for Veronica who gives him a small wave as Lance shoves Keith up the stairs and into his room. The whole process takes no longer than twenty seconds. Keith wonders if maybe Lance was embarrassed by him. The idea makes him feel sick.

He’s just beginning to feel the first trickle of regret when Lance sits Keith on the bed and marches over to the wardrobe, where he flings it open for Keith to see its contents. His face looks just about as miserable as Keith feels. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, Keith, but I hate choosing outfits for myself. I overthink it, I get frustrated and I give up cancel the date.’ He picks at the doorframe. Keith can hear his nail scraping against the wood and it sets his teeth on edge.

Keith blinks. ‘You’ve cancelled a date because you couldn’t decide what to wear?’

Lance nods, and his finger digs deeper at the wood. He refuses to meet Keith’s eyes. ‘Three times.’ His head bows over himself. ‘Safe to say I’m not as good at this as I like to think.’

Keith swallows his own unease and focusses his attention on Lance. He needs to choose his words carefully, knowing how susceptible Lance is to them. ‘ _No one_ is actually good at this, Lance. And if they are, then they haven’t found the right person. Being with someone you really like his nerve-racking. It makes your palms sweat and your voice shake. It makes it ten times harder to act normal around them because you’re so focussed on not stuffing up. _That’s_ when you know you’ve found the one.’  

Lance looks up at Keith with wide, uncertain eyes. ‘How do _you_ of all people know that?’

Keith shrugs and looks down at his feet. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, Lance, but sometimes I have normal, non-loner emotions.’ He laughs as he hears Lance readying up a snide comment and races to beat him to the punch. ‘I know, it’s the _worst_.’

‘I’m with you on that one, buddy,’ Lance says, shaking his head. But he’s smiling now Keith notices, and it makes everything feel a little bit lighter.

Lance begins rifling through his wardrobe, which Keith notes is extremely tidy. In fact, as he looks around himself, the entire room is meticulously laid out, not a loose sock or stray item in sight. The bed he sits on is neatly made and he notices that the bookshelf across from him is organised in alphabetical order. Out of all the things he imagined Lance to be, tidy was not one of them. Although, Keith learned long ago that a lot of things he thought about Lance were wrong. Somehow the surprises keep coming though.

From within the wardrobe Lance says, ‘What colour do you think? That’s a simple enough starting point I think even us inept losers can handle.’

‘Blue,’ Keith says without hesitation. He regrets it when Lance raises an angular brow at him. Keith stumbles over his next words. ‘I literally haven’t seen you in any other colour apart from the garrison uniforms. What if blue’s the only colour that suits you? I wouldn’t risk it.’

 _God._ What a royal screw up.

‘Do you really think I’d look bad in another colour?’ Lance sounds offended, but not hurt at least. Outraged in that dramatic way that's unique to Lance.

Keith wishes he could sink through the floor and disappear from the look Lance is giving him. ‘No, of course not. But blue is definitely your colour; it matches your…’ Keith breaks off and feels his chest constrict, caging his heart and lungs and turning his breath short, ‘eyes.’

Lance is part way through pulling out a coat hanger, nodding vaguely along with Keith’s words. He didn’t seem to pick up on Keith’s slip up luckily.

‘Look, you’re not wrong.’ Lance pulls the coat hanger parallel with his body, revealing a simple blue and white sweater. ‘What about this?’

Keith pinches his face together while he scrutinises the sweater. ‘Yes, but it needs something else.’ He stands up and crosses the room, looking at Lance for permission before he dives into the wardrobe. When Lance nods his assent, Keith starts rifling through the coat hangers, hearing them scrape and click against each other. Lance shrugs and takes Keith’s place on the bed, apparently happy to let Keith take over.

Keith feels his cheeks filling with warmth. This—his hands deep in the throes of Lance’s closet, fingers brushing over linen and cotton—is the closest Keith’s ever felt to this part Lance’s life. The boring, non-Voltron parts. Touching his clothes. Sitting on his bed. Choosing his outfit. These are the parts of Lance Keith never gets to see when their days are filled to the brim, with missions, training, briefings and endless responsibilities.

This is where Keith always found true intimacy—the normal, overlooked bits of life. There was beauty in it.

He pauses when he comes across a simple blue-collared shirt. It’s crisp and still bears the tag from when it was bought. Keith yanks it out and holds it out for Lance to see. ‘You’ve never worn this.’

Lance looks taken aback, his mouth falling open a fraction. ‘I didn’t realise I even owned that still.’

‘It’s a nice shirt,’ Keith comments, pressing the fabric of one of the sleeves between his fingers. ‘Why is it sitting there in the back?’

Lance leans back on his arms and rolls his head on his shoulders to look up at the roof. ‘My grandparents bought it for me before Earth was invaded. They wanted me to wear it at my graduation from the Garrison. My family must have salvaged it when they fled from Cuba.’

Keith lowers it and a stone sinks deep inside his stomach. Lance’s grandparents died when the Galra first invaded, the McClains having to abandon them so they could have a chance to escape. It still makes Keith feel sick just thinking about how Lance’s face had crumbled upon finding out. It was unfair; the vulnerable were always the first to go. It was the same no matter what planet Keith liberated. Entire generations were missing by the end of it all, unfillable holes left in families for eternity.

‘You should wear it under the sweater,’ Keith notes, smiling down at the shirt. ‘You need something to frame your neck. Plus, I think your grandparents would want you to wear it tonight.’

Lance somehow manages to look startled an sceptical at the same time. ‘Since when are you a fashion guru?’

Keith crosses over to the bed again and drops the shirt on Lance’s lap. ‘I’m not, but I grew up with Shiro.’

‘And _Shiro’s_ the fashion guru?’

‘No, Adam was.’

Lance frowns. ‘This is all very complicated.’

Keith lowers himself beside Lance on the bed. ‘You’ve known me for how long now? I would’ve thought you’d figured out how complicated my life is by now.’

Lance closes his eyes and smiles. ‘Yet somehow you constantly come up with new ways to surprise me.’

‘Well, I don’t want to become _boring_ , do I?’

‘Trust me,’ Lance begins, his tone dropping a few octaves. ‘You were never boring. Not for a second. You’re a lot of things, Keith, but boring is definitely not one of them.’ He opens a single eyes and peers at Keith through his lashes.

Keith knows Lance only means the words to be friendly, but they go straight to his heart regardless. Lance, a sharpshooter to the core, forever hitting his targets whether he means to or not.

‘Right,’ Lance announces, shooting up to his feet with the shirt and sweater bundled together in his arms. ‘Time to get all razzle dazzled and rattle the starts out of a princess.’

Keith knocks his food against Lance’s leg. ‘You’ll need pants first, you dimbo.’

Lance waves a hand and marches over to his closet again. ‘Of course, of course. I know that. Let’s see what we’ve got.’

‘Something with pockets at the front,’ Keith interjects. ‘You fidget when you get nervous and start picking at the skin around your nails. Pockets will stop you from doing that.’

Lance shoots Keith an indignant look. ‘I do not do that.’

Keith leans forward and quirks his lip in that way he knows irritates Lance. It all feels a little more bearable like this. ‘Sure you don’t.’

‘I don’t!’ Lance squawks and yanks out a pair of pants harsher than necessary.

‘You’re doing it right now, doofus.’

Lance glances down at his hands and presses his eyebrows when he sees that he indeed is picking at his skin with nervous movements. He glares back up at Keith. ‘Only because you brought it up.’

Keith rolls his eyes but his hearts squeezes at the dramatic expression twisting Lance’s features. He’s all flared up and indignant, neck and cheeks blooming red and his eyes sparking with frustration. ‘Just get changed,’ Keith says, shaking his head. ‘You don’t want Allura arriving while you’re still half naked. Might send the wrong message.’

Lance looks like he wants to argue but manages simply to blow out a breath instead. He gestures for Keith to turn around with a finger. Lance is shy; Keith discovered this when he noticed Lance never unchanged in front of the team in the locker rooms, always sneaking into the toilet cubical instead. Keith twists around on the bed and counts the seconds in his head to distract himself from what was happening behind him. He hears the thump of pants hitting the floor, the jingle of a belt, the ripping of a plastic tag.

When Lance tells him he can turn around again Keith is ready for the way his stomach drops. It was an inevitable occurrence. Lance hasn’t donned the sweater yet, but even just in the dress shirt he looks striking. He’s always been a boy of angles and sharp edges, right from the line of his jaw to the slope of his shoulders. Keith imagines him being cut and chiselled from stone; it just seems fitting that way.

Lance does a little spin, splaying his arms out for Keith to see the outfit properly. ‘Decent enough?’

Keith’s mouth is dry, so he swallows against it before he answers. ‘I think it’ll do.’ He scrutinises Lance’s collar. ‘You’ve done your buttons up incorrectly, though.’

Lance glances down at himself. ‘Oh.’ He unbuttons them all and tries again, but his hands are shaking so violently that he stuffs up.

When he goes to try again, Keith holds up a hand and crosses the room. ‘Stop, stop, _stop._ You’re gonna hurt yourself, Jesus.’ He brushes Lance’s hands away and starts popping the buttons, from his collarbones down to his naval. Luckily, Keith is better at masking his own nervous hands than Lance; they remain steady. When the buttons are all free, he pinches either side of Lance’s collar and straightens the shirt so everything lines up. It’s then, when the material shifts away from Lance’s skin, Keith notices a mark over Lance’s chest, slightly to the left. When he lifts the shirt a little to have a closer look he sucks in a breath.

It looks like streaks of lightning across his skin, all concentrating over where his heart would be and then exploding outwards. It’s pale and shiny—not a new wound but certainly not an old one either.

‘Lance,’ Keith says between clenched teeth. ‘What is this?’

Lance is looking down at his chest with a pinched expression. ‘Oh. That. It was from a while ago now. We were helping a Galra base repair a broken shield when one of the plates shorted out. Allura was too close so I pushed her out of the way.’ Lances takes a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough time to get out of the way myself. Copped it real bad. Allura said all the energy focussed around my heart. Ruptured a bunch of arteries and really fucked it up.’

Keith feels sick. ‘Did it —’ He can’t finish.

‘It stopped. So did everything else, I guess. _I_ stopped.’ Lance shrugs.

‘You died.’

‘Clinically, yeah, I guess? But only for a few minutes. Allura was there to save the day.’ He says it reassuringly, but Keith doesn’t feel any better. Lance’s face lights up and his eyes turn lovestruck. ‘Luckiest guy in the world, I guess.’

‘Jesus.’ Keith’s hand presses against the warm skin, feeling the difference in texture between the marred and unmarred flesh. He leans his weight into that hand and bows his head. ‘I had no idea.’

He feels Lance’s breath in his hair when he speaks. ‘It’s okay. I never really made it public knowledge, and I’d prefer it to stay that way if you don’t mind. Only you and Allura know what happened.’

Keith nods. He understands. ‘Are you okay now? Are there any side effects?’

‘So long as I don’t endure anything like that again, I should be fine. Allura keeps tabs on it every few weeks to make sure nothing goes amiss. She wants me to consider medication eventually, though.’

Keith’s head jerks up. ‘What the hell, Lance? We endure shit like that _all the time_. And now you’re standing here telling me your heart might give out the next time it happens? You’re risking your _life_.’

Lance doesn’t appear to appreciate this, face turning cold. ‘We’re all risking our lives, Keith.’

‘But now it’s even more dangerous for you. Fuck. _Fuck_.’

Lance steps away from Keith’s hand, and it takes all of Keith’s will not to follow him. When he buttons his shirt up again all the buttons are in the correct hole. He looks at Keith as he pops the last one through. ‘I can handle it. Don’t start getting soft on me in the field because of this, okay?’

This again. Why does it always come back to this? Why can’t Lance get it through his thick skull that he isn’t about to be kicked off the team? ‘I’m not gonna sideline you, Lance. I promise.’

Lance grins. ‘Good.’ He throws on his sweater and moves towards his dresser. ‘Now for cologne. Come here and take a sniff with me.’

Keith feels whiplash from the change in topic, but follows Lance regardless. There’s about half a dozen bottles of cologne sitting unused. Lance picks one, removes the lid and sprays inside it and takes a whiff. Then he offers for Keith to do the same. The moment the tangy scent hits his nose he sneezes, and it has Lance bending over and slapping his legs as he laughs.

They continue sniffing the bottles until they both admit they have no idea what they’re doing and just decide to use the first one.

‘I dunno how much to put on,’ Lance says.

‘No more than one puff, please,’ Keith pleads. ‘You want Allura to still be able to smell by the end of the night.’

Lance scoffs and does a single puff of cologne. ‘There.’ He pats his chest and spins around for Keith. ‘I think I’m ready.’

‘How long until she gets here?’

Lance checks his watch. ‘About half an hour. God, I need a drink. I’m getting nervous.’

Keith shakes his head. ‘No way. That’ll for sure turn the night on its head in the worst way possible. You’ve spent over a year in Allura’s company. You’ve had hundreds of dinners with her. Just think of it as any other day.’

Lance clearly isn’t convinced. ‘Yeah, but now she’s expecting something. She’s a princess and she’s from a culture that has big grand traditions for all this stuff. She’s probably expecting horse and cart and a necklace of diamonds.’

Keith wants to roll his eyes, but he can see that Lance really is becoming distressed: his lips are pressed together and he’s once again picking at his nails. So Keith takes Lance’s hands and shoves them deep in his pockets and then settles his own hands on Lance’s shoulders. He squeezes them to keep Lance’s attention pinned on him. ‘Okay, are you purposefully ignoring everything I told you before?’

Lance’s eyes are blown wide. ‘No I’m just —’

‘Nervous. That’s fine. But you gotta stop listing reasons why she wouldn’t like you and start listing reasons why she would. You’re too impressionable for your own good.’

‘Like what?’

‘Nope,’ Keith says, shaking his head. ‘You already got too many compliments from me today. This list you’ve gotta come up with all on your own.’

‘Lists are Pidge’s thing.’

‘And yet you’re so good at coming up with lists about why Allura wouldn’t like you.’ Keith closes his eyes an draws in a deep breath. ‘Look, love isn’t about big things like horses and expensive jewellery. Grand gestures aren’t what sustain a relationship. It’s the small things that matter. The things you do every day, most of the time without even realising it. It’s a full-time job.’

‘Like what?’

Keith takes a moment and sucks in a deep breath. ‘Like knowing that you like your coffee strong with no sugar. Like noticing that you hate yogurt with fruit bits in it, so making sure you’re only ever given smooth yogurt. Like noticing that you’re like that with _every_ food. You just _hate_ bits. Like knowing you hate thunderstorms at night and making sure the blinds are closed so the lightning doesn’t freak you out. Like making sure you actually eat all your dinner and don’t just save room for a bigger serving of desert, because you’re so unhealthy.’

‘Hey!’

‘Like respecting your weirdly clean and meticulous habits. Like giving you more pineapple on your pizza slice because you’re obsessed with that stuff. Like knowing _not_ to touch any of your bathroom stuff for fear of literal death. Like buying you said products when they start to look close to empty so you, God forbid, don’t have to miss a single day without cleansing, purifying, masking or moisturising your face. Like knowing exactly what you need to hear when you’re feeling your worst, and knowing how exactly to stop you from picking your fingernails raw when you’re under pressure. Like being able to recognise at exactly what point you need to go to bed, despite you protesting the entire way there. The dumb little things that make you who you are.’ 

Keith is out of breath by the time he finishes, and his heart has started working overtime in his chest. It shutters and thrashes against his ribs.

Lance is looking at Keith with an unreadable expression, but Keith sees that his eyes are glimmering in the low light of the bedroom.

Eventually, Lance stammers, ‘God, we really have spent way too much time together, haven’t we?’

Keith laughs. ‘Space hasn’t really left us much room to do much else.’

‘I could probably outline your entire workout routine if I tried.’

‘Please don’t.’ Keith smiles and starts to pull away from Lance.

He notices how hard his hands have been gripping Lance’s shoulders and goes to apologise, but Lance interrupts him. ‘What if I do everything right and she doesn’t like what she gets?’

‘She will.’

‘But what if she doesn’t?’

‘You’ll feel shit for a while, but you’ll move on.’

‘And what if she does like what she gets and at the end of it all she leans in for a kiss?’

‘You kiss her.’

‘How?’

Keith doesn’t understand. ‘Aren’t you an expert at that or something?’

Lance’s shoulders collapse inwards. ‘Or something.’

‘You’ve kissed people before, right?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He pauses and looks at Keith with sheepish eyes. ‘Just not when it’s really mattered.’

Keith breathes out through his nose. He can feel his decision being made without his logic’s consent already. He thinks of the sunset again—his last chance. One last shot.

He steps into Lance’s space and holds up his hands, palms out. ‘Don’t punch me, okay?’

Lance cocks his head. ‘What?’

He settles one of his hands behind Lance’s head, his thumb smoothing over the skin behind his ear. ‘If she goes to kiss you, you lean in, slowly. Don’t fucking headbutt her. And make sure you tilt your head slightly the opposite way she does. And keep your eyes open long enough that you don’t end up missing. You don’t wanna end up kissing up her nose or something. _Gross_.’ Keith tilts his head forwards and watches for any sign of discomfort from Lance. When Lance only follows and mirrors his position he continues.

‘Keep your hands light. They might be around her neck, head, shoulders or on her waist. Where ever they’re most comfortable for you. The rest is just instinct. You just…’ Keith closes his eyes and a moment later he feels Lance’s forehead press against his, then his nose, and they pause like that, and Keith’s other hand touches Lance’s jaw, and he can feel warm air brushing over his lips. ‘…do what feels right.’

They stay like that, kind of swaying together nose to nose without actually kissing. He feels Lance pressing further in like he wants to, but never actually going for it. It’s warm. It’s overwhelming. It’s Keith’s last chance to show Lance that he can be more. That he wants more. That he has so much more to give. Just another inch and he could close the space between them. He just wants a bit more time to have Lance in his hands. One more time before it’s impossible.

But in the end he pulls back, feeling like half his heart is being left behind with Lance. He pulls his hands away and crosses them in front of himself. He doesn’t look Lance in the eye. ‘Just like that,’ he says, his voice cracking. ‘But, you know, you actually kiss her.’

‘Right,’ Lance says slowly. Keith can see he’s in a similar position as him. ‘Like that.’

‘Do you feel better about it now?’

Lance doesn’t answer for a few moments. Then: ‘I think so.’

‘Good.’ He looks up at Lance properly and then, with all the genuineness he can muster, says, ‘You’ve got this. She’ll love it.’ His breath rattles in his throat. ‘She’ll love _you_.’

‘Even the annoying, stupid Earth version of me?’

‘Especially that.’ Keith looks at his watch, like he actually has somewhere to be. ‘I should go. My mum gets anxious if I’m not back in time to have dinner with her.’ It’s a lie, sort of. Krolia does get anxious if he doesn’t come back for dinner, but she isn’t expecting him for dinner tonight.

‘Right,’ Lance says, nodding and turning sideways to gesture to the door. ‘I’ll walk you out. I wouldn’t want to worry her. She might come bursting through the window if you’re gone too long.’

They make their way downstairs without a word. The air feels thick with tension that Keith is too scared to break. So he lets it simmer. Then he’s at the front door, and Lance isn’t saying or doing anything, and Keith feels like everything is caving in and all he can do is watch as Lance waves. Then he’s saying, ‘Thanks, Keith. You really saved my ass today.’

‘It’s no problem. It’s what friends are for.’ He’s going to vomit, can feel his throat turning slimy and his stomach starting to cramp. _Friends._

‘I’ll text you how it goes later?’

Keith nods. ‘Sure.’

‘Okay.’ Lance’s voice is soft and sounds far away. ‘Well, have a goodnight, Keith. Drive safe.’

‘I will. And good luck with Allura.’

Lance smiles. ‘Bye, Keith.’

The door shuts. The light blinks out, and Keith’s last chance slips through his fingers like sand.

When he gets back into his car he rushes to pull out a plastic bag and promptly vomits a day’s worth of meals into it. His throat burns and tears push their way out of his eyes, and he just heaves and heaves and heaves until there’s nothing left inside him. He grimaces as he ties the bag up and then fiddles with his keys. It takes him six attempts to realise he can’t get the key in the ignition, so he eventually gives up and slams his hands against the steering wheel with a shout.

It’s over. He missed out, and now Lance is lost to him for good. He’s crying before he realises it, huge, gasping sobs that shake his body to the core. That rattle his bones and leave his throat raw. He's surprised no one can hear him from inside Lance’s house. He can’t stop himself for a full fifteen minutes. By the end of it, he’s completely emptied himself.

It’s all over.

Then his phone sounds off inside his pocket and he digs it out with a shaking hand.

It’s from Lance.

 

**One last question: what if by the end of it all, after I bamboozle her and we share an amazing kiss and declare our love for each other, I still feel like something’s missing?**

Keith’s heart stops, and he quickly types back.

 

**Lyke what?**

**Like***

**Like SOMEONE is still missing? How do I keep going without them?**

Keith feels something inside himself spark to life again.

 

**They’ll always be there Lance. I promise.**


End file.
